


Twisted Love

by Wufflepuffle



Series: Hanahaki Disease Fanfics [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Death, Flowers, Hanahaki AU, Heavy Angst, Hurt Lance, I'm Sorry, It's just suffering Lance, Langst, M/M, klance, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wufflepuffle/pseuds/Wufflepuffle
Summary: Bathed in a multitude of poisonous yet oh so beautiful flowers, Lance laments his love in his final agony filled moments.Aka another Hanahaki au packed with angst.





	Twisted Love

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't much to say about this other than I'm sorry.
> 
> This is my first time doing this.....
> 
> I love Lance.
> 
> I just love langst as well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> Wufflepuffle.

In his dreams gentle vines entangled his wrists.

In his dreams flowers were woven into his hair.

In his dreams gentle hands would wrap around his own, sharing a beautiful, loving warmth.

In his dreams he had soft lips kept warm by constant kisses.

In his dreams his skin was flawless, void of ugly scars.

In his dreams he was loved.

In his dreams he was useful.

In his dreams there were no flowers slowly ruining him.

In his dreams Voltron needed him alive.

Dreams are beautiful.

**Dreams are ugly.**

Dreams help us feel strong, help us live by escaping reality.

**Dreams help us crash to the ground under the stress of knowing we are cowards.**

Dreams let us grow.

**Dreams let us die.**

Dreams make us feel lifting hope.

 **Dreams make us feel crushing despair**.

For some people dreams guide us, lead us, help us.

Not Lance.

No, not Lance.

For Lance dreams lead him on, dreams destroy him.

Yet he still loves them.

Because he is a coward.

He is a coward because he is in love.

He is in love with an unattainable person. 

He knows this person is unattainable because he is hurting.

He’s being strangled by his own love.

Strangled,

slowly,

slowly,

quickly.

He doesn’t want to die.

**He wants to die.**

He really wants to be happy.

 **He doesn’t mind being unhappy**  

He needs Keith to love him.

**He doesn’t need Keith to love him.**

 

* * *

 

His bath is scented with checkered fritillary. 

The bath is a grave for those ebbing away.

_Persecution._

His bath is scented with Bella Donna.

The water is tinged with a faint red hue. 

_Silence._

One could comment that Voltron did need him, he was the pilot to one of their lions and an excellent sharpshooter. 

But, in all honesty Allura was more like that than him.

His blue eyes fall on the yellow-red petals of the Helenium flowers.

_Tears._

From the second flowers started to fall from his lips he took a deep fascination in them, they were Earth flowers. 

He kept them.

Why wouldn’t he, they were genuine specimens from the place he loved so much.

It was truly shame they were killing him.

Among the coloured flowers lay a flower of dark hues; Mourning Bride. 

 _Unfortunate Attachment._  

Then another flower floated into his vision. 

Bluebells, he loved bluebells. In Scotland the flower could symbolise gratitude or love.

In Britain, death.

Both meanings struck him to the core, the true, ugly yet beautiful truth and startled him from the very beginning.

Small, cute little flowers fell into the water, saliva and blood gentle caressed away.

‘Oh’ a voice in his mind spoke quietly, ‘these ones.’

He had only recently started to see Laburnum. The cute yellow flower was one of his favourites.

He had always thought they were very pretty. 

Laburnum flowers were completely and utterly poisonous.

Poisonous yet so very pretty. He remembered how he had coughed up a whole branch once, that had been the closest he had come to death.

He had spent the night in excruciating pain, the poison was a particularly unkind one.

He didn’t die.

To his utmost disappointment.

He knew exactly what the flowers meant, they were a warning.

A warning there was more to come.

The thick flurry of flowers crawled out of his body; his throat raw and ripped; his lips cut and bloody.

His body slowly giving up.

_Hunk is baking cookies right now._

His head felt the pain.

_Pidge is on her computer right now._

His abdomen felt the pain.

_Allura is on a conference call right now._

His irregular pulse felt the pain.

_Coran is doing something weird right now._

His shredded and collapsing lungs felt the pain.

_Shiro is working right now._

His spasming muscles felt the pain.

_Keith is training._

His mind felt the sadness.

I love you.

I love you for better or for worse.

I love you for richer or for poorer.

I love you in sickness and in health . 

I love you with love and cherish.

I love you till death takes me away.

The last flower that came from Lance McClain’s lips was one of gentleness.

A Butterfly Jasmine.

A singular, pure,

pure,

pure

Butterfly Jasmine.

The National Flower of Cuba.

He never saw it.

In his last moments he didn’t see his friends.

He didn’t see his family.

He didn’t see Keith.

All he saw was pain.

Poisonous,

Twisted,

Pain.

Lance fell in love.

A twisted,

twisted,

twisted,

Love.


End file.
